Conspiracies
by Airin9
Summary: When Sherlock was sent by his brother to sign a peace treaty with the newly Crowned King Arthur of Camelot, he certainly did not suspect what and who awaited him there. Enemies form alliances, kingdoms are in peril, and a raven-haired boy rediscovers his past. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone!**

**Here is my second fanfic. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Check out my first story ****_Silver_**** (straight fanfic about Merlin BBC) if you haven't already read it yet, and review to give me your opinion of it. I seriously need feedback. Thanks!**

**(I know I haven't finished writing it yet – I will finish it ASAP. I am so sorry for the wait!)**

**I was attacked by the evil plot bunnies while I was away from home ****_and_**** my computer ****_and_**** my drafts for Silver, so I just had to write this one down instead. – but fear not, updates are on their way for Silver, cross my heart.**

**The plot bunnies inspired me for crossover between Merlin and Sherlock. I have read most of those on this archive (I loved them all!). I just love the brotherly relationship between the main characters.**

**I plan to write a Moriarty/Morgana alliance later in the story, but shush, spoilers :D**

**I think there are not enough of those Sherlock/Merlin crossovers (only 54! Come on, guys!)!**

**Anyway :P**

**This story is NOT slash.**

**The plot takes place during Camelot's era (no modern era at all for a change!), after Uther's death (roughly two months later).**

**The intrigues from the Sherlock BBC series did not happen in this story because, well, it is Camelot and not London (lol :P). Just imagine a royal Mycroft :D**

**Hope you enjoy this and do not forget to review! Pretty please ! I am baking you virtual cookies!**

**Disclaimer : I wish so much I owned Merlin and Sherlock...**

_**Conspiracies**_

**When Sherlock is sent by his brother to sign a peace treaty with the newly Crowned King Arthur, he certainly did not suspect what and **_**who**_** awaited him there. Enemies form alliances, kingdoms are in peril, and a raven-haired boy rediscovers his past.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Mycroft, Sherlock and Merlin were the three sons of the King of Semloh. He had had one son each five years; Merlin was the last, by ten years younger than Mycroft. Their mother had died giving birth to her third son.

The King of Semloh was respected by his subjects; he was as close to them as a friend would be. The kingdom flourished under his reign, and everyone in all of Albion knew of the wonderful King, and talked of his generosity. King Balinor was also a dragonlord; his subjects were used to seeing the magnificent creatures fly peacefully above their heads. The dragons were a warrant of their safety, as no sane enemy would have even thought to confront such tremendous power.

The Kingdom's only enemy was Essetir. It was a southern land of mercenaries, ruled by the ruthless Moriarty; Balinor's renegade nephew.

Moriarty had always craved for power. He was madly jealous of his three younger cousins, the only in line for the throne; and suffered cruelly from not having any of his family's magical talent.

After a murder attempt against the King a few years before Merlin's birth, he had been banished from the kingdom. The traitor had taken over Essetir and prepared his revenge with the most ruthless assassins and sorcerers. He had infiltrated most of Albion's courts only a year after his banishment, and had relentlessly tried to invade Semloh since then – without much success, partly thanks to the dragons.

Brutal strength was useless against the mighty dragonlord's kingdom, and Moriarty learnt it soon enough. He was more and more inventive over the years; but his maingoal remained ending the dragons' problem by wiping out the dragonlord lineage.

When Merlin was only two years old, the King was murdered. The poison was fatal in less than five minutes. No dragon had been able to heal their lord, not even the Great Kilgharrah.

Everyone knew Moriarty was the assassin, but the grieving kingdom had had no way to attack back. They had lost their best asset: their control over the dragons.

A dragonlord's power was passed through death to the oldest son, but only if he had any magical talent. Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock had any power whatsoever. They were unusually intelligent and witty, but did not possess the required magic to access to dragonlordship. Little Merlin, on the other hand, was the most magically gifted child Albion had ever known; but he was only two at that time. Nevertheless, thanks to the tiny child's influence, the dragons stayed pacific towards the kingdom; but they never attacked Essetir back.

* * *

Three years later, the three princes went for a walk in the park behind their castle, as they did on every weekend. It was late March, but it was such a Northern region of Albion that the forest was still covered by a thick snow blanket. Merlin and Sherlock played at hide and seek while Mycroft sat in the grass with a heavy book, sighing at the sight of his brothers' childish behavior. The older prince was reading the coronation protocol again – not that he needed to. He had known the process by heart since his father's death, in case Moriarty tried to claim the throne; that way he could have been crowned in a hurry, and the traitor wouldn't have had any chance of becoming King in his stead. Luckily, there had been no such need.

The actual ceremony was going to take place in less than a week, for his sixteenth birthday, and he wanted it to go perfectly. He needed to stabilise the kingdom and make it enter a new peaceful era.

* * *

He flicked through the pages and sighed again at hearing his brothers shouting happily – he sometimes wished he could be a normal teen and play with them (not that he would admit it loud).

The sky suddenly darkened, and Mycroft looked up as if to pout at the cloud that had passed over the sun. But there was not a single cloud in the unusually dark sky. It seemed a magical shadow was laid over the forest. A oppressing sense of foreboding invaded his mind.

Alarmed, he closed his book and shouted for Merlin and Sherlock to stop playing and get back to the castle at once. Sherlock came in the clearing running, panicked: it had been Merlin's turn to hide and he was nowhere to be found. Mycroft was about to scold his brother –obviously, it was his fault- when they heard a child's shout coming from the other side of the forest. The oldest boys looked at each other in the eye, and began running as quickly as they could. There was another shout, a bit muffled this time. It came from their right. The river.

They kept running and barged in the middle of a battle. Guards had arrived before them and were fighting off a dozen of bandits, certainly hired by Moriarty. Mycroft, furious, took a sword out of his sheath and dived into battle.

Sherlock was not old enough to have his own weapon, so he grabbed a stick – not that it was much efficient against heavily armed men. He ducked to avoid a fatal hit and frantically looked around for his little brother's silhouette, without avail.

The fight was quickly over, and the bandits were captured.

The whole kingdom looked for the youngest prince for hours, which quickly moved into days, weeks, months. Six months later, no one had found Merlin, and the Lost Prince was declared dead.

* * *

Merlin was running. He laughed merrily as a fresh breeze went through his unruly black hair, pushing it out of his unusual blue eyes.

He loved winter so much!

After finishing this game, he decided he would ask Sherlock to build a snowman. Or make a snowball battle. Or skate on the iced lake. Or…

There! He would hide under this enormous twig – just big enough for him to slide under. He would have made himself invisible, but using his powers wouldn't have been fair for his non-magical brother – and he did not want to win so easily, it was no fun.

Merlin bent and rolled under the tree, leaves getting stuck in his dark hair. He put himself in a fetal position, pulling his legs against his chest and keeping them close with his arms. He giggled in excitement.

He camouflaged his hide a bit by moving some leaves and branches over him with a flash of his eyes.

Merlin shifted a little to find the most confortable position, and waited. After a few moments, Mycroft called out his name. He giggled. His older brother was playing as well!

A twig snapped behind him. But... it couldn't be Sherlock. His brother did not do that much noise whilst moving. And neither did Mycroft – uh, perhaps he did, he was certainly fat-_big_ enough-, but this wasn't him. There was someone else in the forest, and that someone did not sound friendly.

He tried to breathe as softly as he could, and risked a look out. Five men were encircling his tree. They were slowly walking towards him, eyes focused on Merlin's hiding place.

The young prince didn't find the sharpness of their swords friendly at all. He reached out with his magic, fearing what he might find out; none were sorcerers, but they had magical items in their bags. And they were armed to the teeth. He gulped at the sight of the enormous mace the tallest bandit held in his left hand.

They were surely Moriarty's men! He had heard about them, about how they attacked regularly Semloh.

One day, when Merlin was four, Moriarty had gotten into the castle. It was midnight, the bells had just rung. Merlin could not sleep: Moriarty hadn't been caught yet. The boy had heard a noise in his cupboard, and had gone to open it. He still remembered how much he had trembled during the four agonizingly frightening steps he had taken between his bed and the wardrobe.

When he had pushed himself on his toes to open the door –obviously he wasn't tall enough to reach the handle without gaining a little height, the room wasn't ergonomic at all- and someone had shoved a hand on his mouth. He had tried to scream and kick his aggressor, but there had been no use.

A mocking voice had whispered in his hear that if he didn't move, his death would be less painful – as if that was in any way comforting.

The boy had angrily bitten the man and pushed him away with his magic. The man's head had hit the side of his bed with a loud thud. Merlin had turned around to see his attacker, but there had been no one. Moriarty had magically escaped.

Merlin still had nightmares about that night, about the evil man in the cupboard – since then he had always checked his room before going to sleep. He shook himself out of his thoughts. He had to escape – he could hear his inner Sherlock telling him that _that_ fact was much obvious. He nearly giggled but bit his tongue to stop himself.

Merlin made himself invisible, and tried to get out without making any sound. But he had put leaves and branches above him, and he wasn't exactly swift –sigh-. Of course, his escape was noisy, and the bandits tried to jump on his invisible form.

Merlin ducked to avoid them, and started running towards the river, hoping to follow it back to the castle. It was the quickest way out of the forest.

Obviously, there were more men waiting there, as heavily armed as the other ones. Double sigh.

He was surrounded. The men had seen his footprints, and could hear his frantic breathing. The prince couldn't escape, and decided to give away his position, hoping that his brothers would hear him. He shouted at the top of his lungs, and lost his concentration. He became visible again. The child could hear his guards running towards him, but they were too far away.

A bandit sneaked up from behind him and put a hand on his mouth. Merlin let out a muffled yell in surprise, and couldn't help but remember his nightmares. He kicked in panic, and tried to get out of the hold. He stumbled on a rock behind him, and closed his eyes, preparing himself for the impact with cold water and pointy rocks. He knew that with this angle of fall, he would hit his head on the sharp rock he had seen before falling, and knock himself out – the intelligence of the Princes of Semloh wasn't exactly comforting in those fatidic moments. At least he wouldn't see the bandits kidnap him. Or kill him. The child, in his last seconds, wished he were somewhere, anywhere far from the bandits' clutches and their weapons.

The wind picked up; the terrified child banged his head on the river's rocks and passed out as he had predicted. But he was lying unconscious far from Semloh.

* * *

Since that day, Sherlock hadn't been the same. The formerly cheery teenager was now cold and distant. He wouldn't talk to Mycroft, thinking that if he hadn't come to the clearing before going after Merlin, he would have been on time to save him.

He had lost his mother, his father; and blamed himself for his little brother disappearance. He only had his pompous older brother left – what a consolation -, and the King certainly did not understand his emotions. Sherlock had nightmares every night, in which he heard Merlin's voice calling out for help. He would run and run and run, but get to his brother too late each time.

As soon as Sherlock was old enough, the Prince set out for the countryside, intending to forget by travelling around the kingdom and helping out his subjects. At least he would help someone. His talent for deductions was soon acclaimed by all, but Sherlock paid no attention to his recognition. He just did it to forget.

Mycroft wasn't crowned the week Merlin disappeared. He had ordered everyone to go look for his brother. During the longest six months of the history of Semloh, no-one ever stopped watching out for a five-year-old dragonlord. No-one really stopped afterwards, even when Merlin was announced dead and Mycroft reluctantly crowned King.

* * *

Far far away, at the other side of the kingdom of Essetir, a young woman was in a hurry. She was the only healer of her village, and a friend of hers was giving birth in less than a day - she had been collecting soothing plants to help the delivery.

The woman was now going back to her tiny house to boil the remedies. She was quick-walking along the calm stream that would lead her straight to her house, humming to herself, when she heard a weird windy noise and a thud coming from behind her. Where she had stepped seconds earlier was now lying a tiny child, around five years old – maybe less, as he was really small. He had an ugly gash on the back of his head which was bleeding profusely, and his clothes were as wet as if he had just dived into a river.

She was at his side by the instant, motherly worry pumping through her veins. The child had funny large ears, and hair as black as night. He was definitely peculiar. The healer shook herself and took a look at his injury. The gash wasn't deadly, but could be really nasty if badly healed. She stood up, slowly took the unconscious child in her arms, and ran back home.

The woman laid the boy in her bed, comically large for him. She cleaned the bloody gash with an old worn-out tunic, and bandaged his head with a rapidity that only the best healers could reach. Satisfied but still worried, she prepared the potions she had set out for in the first place as well as supper, and waited for the child to wake.

She was just setting the table for two when she heard a low moan coming from her bed. She nearly ran at the waking boy's side, and grabbed his hand.

The healer observed her young patient again. His clothes hadn't been stained by his blood, so she hadn't changed them. He wore a little blue jacket, a bit dusty from the forest, and but made of fine materials. Noble ones. The jacked looked really warm; warmer than the boy should need at this time of the year. He wore black trousers of the most expensive quality as well as thick brown boots.

She frowned – where did the boy come from? He wore regal clothes, yet he was alone in the forest. And he was dressed as if they were during winter. Her interrogations were stopped as the child twitched, moving from lying on his back to a comfortable side position by clumsily jerking an arm above him – his hand nearly hit the woman's face, and she yelped in surprise.

The boy slowly opened superb blue eyes, though a bit glazed over - concussion. He closed them again, surely feeling nauseous, and asked where he was. He had an eerie accent, one from the northern regions of Albion.

'You are in my house, my boy.' The woman answered. The boy fearfully twitched again and tried to move away from her. 'It's all right, you are safe here. My name is Hunith, what is yours?'

The pale boy frowned and slowly opened his eyes. He looked so lost, more than a five-year-old boy should ever be.

'I-I don't know'.

* * *

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**I'll publish chapter 2 as soon as I get two reviews. If I don't get any, you'll have to wait a little longer to see if Merlin regains his memories :P**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**Hi there!**

**Hope you enjoy this second chapter!**

**Reviews are much appreciated :D**

**Thanks to '_anynomous' reader_ who reviewed this story ! As you were my first reviewer, you may choose a name for a character that will be important in the next chapters (if you are still reading and would like to give me a name, just review again :D). **

**And anyone reviewing this story will be able to choose an element of it :D so get your keyboards and REVIEW :D**

***cheers***

* * *

**Chapter 2 : Echos of the past**

'Up you get, Merlin!'

Gaius's voice echoed in the warlock's room. The boy moaned and tried to hide his face under his blanket. Gaius came in, and he was decided to wake his ward – as he was on every single morning.

'Merlin, I know you are awake. You are going to be late agai-' Gaius faked a cough to hide the word he had been about to pronounce, but even sleepy Merlin's ears were sharp and he groaned in protest from under the blanket.

'Anyway, you really need to get up. I've cooked you your favorite breakfast, and I want you to have enough time to eat it.'

After a few minutes more of debating whether he really needed to get up or not – why he bothered getting up to be Arthur's servant was a mystery, really-, Merlin sleepily came down to have his breakfast. Gaius smirked.

'I think it is the first time you are awake so early. You have over half an hour to get prepared.'

Merlin unceremoniously collapsed on his chair.

'Thanks a lot, Gaius. Really nice of you to –yawn- wake me up this early every _day_. Anyway, I wanted to tell you something, so at least I've got some time.'

Gaius sat down in front of his ward.

'I have known you for years, and you are a father to me; and I don't know why I never told you this before.'

'Tell me what, my boy?'

Merlin shifted uneasily – he was always secretive, and what he was about to tell Gaius he had never told anyone, not even his mother.

'You see, Hunith isn't really my mother.'

Gaius raised his eyebrows, and gestured him to continue.

'I don't remember well, but I think she found me in the forest by a stream when I was around six. Maybe a little younger. I asked her once, and she told me she found me unconscious whilst looking for medicinal plants.'

Gaius nodded.

'I had a concussion which caused me to lose my memories. I never got them back, and after a month or two of waiting if I could recall anything, Hunith decided to call me Merlin. She had heard of a foreign Lost Prince that went by this name, and she considered me as her own little Prince.'

Gaius smiled.

'I know, Merlin. She told me.'

Merlin nodded - he had expected his guardian to know, anyway.

'Thing is, I keep having those weird dreams. I can't even remember when they started, but I get them every other night.'

Gaius's right eyebrow shot up, and Merlin understood his concern.

'No, they are not like Morgana's. It is totally different. They are dreams from my past, the one I can't remember. I see myself as a young child, around five. There are always a ten-year-old boy that has the same hair as me, and an older one with brown hair and eyes – and a ridiculous pompous stance. Arthur remembers me of him, strangely enough. I think those two boys were my brothers. But I don't even know their names. I-I can't hear them when they speak. And I don't know how we got separated, and what happened to them afterwards. I wish so much I knew more.'

Merlin looked down, fidgeting his spoon.

* * *

Gaius looked deep in thought while Merlin ate his breakfast. After a few minutes, the Court Physician looked about to tell Merlin something but Arthur burst in the room - he never had any sense of good timing, anyway.

'Merlin, you idiot! What are you still doing here?'

Merlin was dumb-struck. He woke earlier than usual and the Prince was angry? –he was never happy anyway, but that was really unfair.

'Well?'

Arthur looked furious.

'But…I am not late! I even woke up thirty minutes earlier to be on time. I haven't done anything wrong!'

'Merrrlin! I had a training session this morning one hour ealier than usual. You were supposed to wake me. Because of you, Gwen and I were woken up by Gwaine, and I swear, I don't want it to happen again. Ever. Now hurry up, I've got lots of chores for you.'

Obviously, it was Merlin's fault. Again. No one had told him about this modified planning.

* * *

The manservant sighed, stood up reluctantly, and walked towards the door, arms and legs dangling, head hanging down. Gaius tried to control his laughter at the sight of such a worn-looking Merlin, and Arthur patted his servant's arched back with a condescending look - before unceremoniously pushing him out of the room without bothering to bit back his laugh.

* * *

After a long – he meant it, really long – day of chores, including scrubbing the floor till you could see your reflection in it, mending half of the prat's shirts whilst chatting with Gwen about his rotten luck, polishing all the King's swords (really there's no need for so many swords! He can't use them all at once), mucking out the stables for the third time in two days, and so many other pointless chores he didn't even have enough strength to recall them all…Merlin greeted Arthur with faked obedience as the king came back from a banquet with his best knights.

'Good evening, my Lord. I hope you are not too tired by the trying day you spent, my Greatness. I wish you enjoyed sitting on your throne and eating with your knights, my King. I have accomplished…most of the chores I was assigned, my Excellence, and even a supplement. I added a new hole in all your leather belts, and I hope the slack will be sufficient, my Majesty. Do you wish me to do something else, my G -?'-Merlin ducked to avoid Arthur's goblet, and incredibly swiftly caught it (and, no, of course he did not slow time to impress the prat). He grinned.

Arthur was as red as Camelot's crest, and Gwen was half dead of laughter, leaning agaisnt the entrance door. Merlin tried to escape the King's fury, but he was caught.

'Merrrlin, you are not getting away like that. You still have to tidy up my clothes.'

'But I already did that.' Merlin used his best outraged whining voice and mimicked horror.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head with mock-sorrow. He went behind his changing screen and a red shirt jerked out of it, landing right on Merlin's head.

'There, you see. You forgot to sort out _this_ shirt.'

Merlin scowled but put the shirt in the laundry.

'Is there anything else, prat?'

'Yes, MErrrlin. May I inform you that I am organizing the signature of the tri-kingdom peace treaty?'

'You may. Tell me, clotpole, what in the earth would be that incredibly interesting event?'

'It is a treaty that is renewed between Camelot and two other kingdoms each time there is a new king in either of the three kingdoms. As I am the new king in question' – Merlin smirked and whispered to Gwen 'That, I know. I still can't believe how much of a prat he is. It's even worse than before!' – 'I have to organise the event. And I am glad to inform you that, for once, you'll have to work, unlike now.'

'Prat'

'Idiot'

'Cabbage-head'

'Clotpole'

'Hey, that's my word.'

'I am the King, I have every right, Merrrl-'

Arthur stopped at hearing a loud thud by the door. Gwen was on the floor, holding her ribs and giggling madly - in a really unqueenly way. But, really, who acted proper in Camelot those days?

After a few minutes helping Gwen to breathe normally, Arthur ended his little speech.

'I am inviting the kingdom of Semloh and Essetir's king Moriarty.'

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Do not forget to review - the reviewers will get to choose the name of a character/place/anything really that will appear in this story! Thanks :D**

**PS : my updates will be quicker if I get reviews :D _hint hint_**

**Signing out,**

**Your favorite writer, lol :)**

**Airin9**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Hi!**

**I hope you all love this chap too! You'll get some action at the end :D *clappings from overjoyed crowd of readers***

**Thanks to Hazuki Yakuza, messie23 and Vivig1212, Anonymous and Guest who alerted, reviewed and/or favorited this story – you have no idea how much I am happy to see that people enjoy this story :D**

**Vivig1212 : you'll have to wait some more to read about Sherlock's reaction when he sees his little brother ;)****I'll try to keep up to your expectations XD**

**Enjoy and do not forget to...review! :) :) :)**

* * *

The kings were supposed to arrive in three days.

Everyone in Camelot was working hard to prepare the great celebrations of peace. The castle was in ebullition, the kitchens in frenzy, the servants ran a marathon every day to clean, order the guest chambers, and clean again.

The peace treaty had to go perfectly to ensure Camelot's safety.

Merlin was walking towards Arthur's room, still wondering why he even bothered to try and be on time. It was early morning, but the King had insisted that his manservant woke him up an hour earlier than usual to prepare the festivities. Merlin was going to be on time (for once, but not that he would admit it), but Arthur would obviously find something to make him do more chores.

The warlock yawned, wondering what it felt like to have a normal night of sleep. He never slept a lot, having so much to do for the prat and for Gaius. When he went to sleep, he also had to learn some magic; and he was so invested in his studies that, despite his tiredness, he always read during two or three hours – cleverly using up most of his sleeping time –sigh-.

After waking up Arthur with his usual 'Rise and Shine!', ducking to avoid a goblet (or worse – yuck-), getting the sleepy King out of his bed by pulling his legs and making him fall on his royal backside and escaping his fury, Merlin set off for the training grounds to prepare his King's equipment for the training session – meaning preparing himself mentally for getting hit like a training dummy during two hours.

He was trying to carry Arthur's entire armour and weapons – including three swords, a jousting spear, a regular spear, maces, knives, shields of various colours and shapes; and oh, did he talk about the swords? – to the table of the training grounds when he saw a cloud of dust in the forest. People were coming towards the gates of the lower town. He frowned.

With a discreet flash of his eyes, Merlin increased his vision to observe the newcomers.

There were at least a dozen horsemen, all heavily armed, riding along a ridiculously decorated blue and gold coach. Essetir's colours. What was King Moriarty doing here this early?

He deposed Arthur's stuff on the ground with a loud thump, thought he would have to polish everything again because of his clumsiness, shrugged with defeat, and went to tell Arthur the news.

The King was already in the castle's courtyard, standing regally with Gwen at the top of the marble stairs. Arthur was obviously trying not to look surprised by the arrival of the other King, as the prat loved having the upper hand in all situations.

Merlin quickly placed himself at the left side of the bottom of the stairs, ready to fulfil his King manservant's role and carry – again – an ungrateful King's heavy belongings – he just hoped there were not too many bags.

Moriarty's coach and men entered the courtyard in a thunderous noise. Merlin uncomfortably shivered, and frowned. Why was he suddenly afraid of hooves' sound on the stone pavement? He suspected his magical sixth sense, and sighed – there was never a royal visit without an attempt against the Crown.

A burly man opened the coach's door. His face and forearms were scarred, and his hands were just huge – three times bigger than Merlin's. Ugh, not cool.

The warlock magically scanned the assembly – you could never be too prudent in Camelot.

There was a sorcerer among them! A powerful one at that. Merlin could not tell who it was, nor his intentions – the sorcerer had put a spell on himself that blocked the warlock from detecting him, and he certainly had changed his appearance too-. Anyway, Merlin was sure the sorcerer did not come to bake unicorn cookies for Gwaine.

The King of Essetir stepped out of the coach. The dark-brown-haired man was in his early thirties. He wore a fur cloak, a dark blue shirt displaying Essetir's crest weaved of golden threads, plain black trousers and shoes, and a crown that looked ridiculously large and heavy on the rather short man's head. His dark-eyes betrayed a mocking and power-craving character – not exactly the type of man Merlin would trust.

The manservant sighed and diligently went to fetch the enormous suitcases the burly man was taking down the coach – of course, it was his job to take those huge cases, that were at least as heavy as him, to the guest's chambers. And of course Arthur had assigned Moriarty a chamber at the top of the castle. Just his luck.

After carrying all the cases in front of the guest chamber's doors –using the feather-light spell he had learnt the other night, not that he would tell Gaius- Merlin knocked on Moriarty's door.

'Come in!'

Merlin pushed the door open, showing the cases behind him.

'Will that be all, your Majesty?'

The King was sitting with the burly man. They looked angry at Merlin – they had certainly been interrupted from a deep conversation. Essetir's monarch was now reading some papers, trying to look inconspicuous. He did not look once at Merlin – ungrateful prat.

'Yes. You may go.'

Moriarty had a strange voice. It held a mocking, even ironic tone. Merlin froze. It was not the first time he heard this tone.

'Well? Hurry up! Get out!'

Merlin nearly sagged at hearing that voice again. He was sure he knew it, but did not know how he could have met the King before. And the scary impression he got of the man did not invite Merlin to try and remember.

Moriarty, wondering why the idiot servant was not moving already, looked up. He arched a bored eyebrow, and opened his mouth in disdain. Merlin held his breath. Would the King recognize him?

After a few agonizing seconds, Moriarty closed his mouth and gestured to the warlock to go with an annoyed sigh. The powerful warlock nearly burst out of the room, uncontrollably ran along the corridors, trying not to bang in someone – that would be awkward; how would he explain his sudden fright?, and only stopped when he entered Arthur's room.

'Merrrlin! What did I say about knocking again?'

Arthur was back to his manservant, obviously looking for something.

Merlin closed the door with a loud snap and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, still wondering what could have provoked such a reaction.

Arthur turned around and saw his servant's distress.

'What happened to you? You saw a big spider, perhaps?,'

Interiorly, Arthur wondered what could have scared Merlin that much. It certainly took much more than a hairy spider to frighten one of the bravest man he knew – not that he would ever admit it to him.

Merlin took two long breaths, but his erratic breathing did not calm.

'Nothing.' He panted. 'It was-was nothing.'

Arthur raised his eyebrows but did not insist – he would put him on the grill later.

'Now that you are here at last, tell me where you put my red jacket. I can't find it.'

Merlin pulled himself together, thankful for the change of subject. He looked up at Arthur and smirked.

'What!?'

The boy looked insistently at Arthur.

'Merrrlin! Tell me!'

The servant stared at him with even more emphasis.

The King looked at himself.

'So, where is it? I don't se-oh, right.'

Arthur was wearing the jacket he had obviously been looking for for quite some time. Merlin burst out laughing, and ducked to avoid the goblet/jug/pillow/boot/…chamber pot?-yuck- that was flying his way.

'Anyway. That's not why I wanted to see you.' _As if_. 'I am organizing a welcoming banquet in a little committee. There will be King Moriarty, one of his ambassadors, the round table knights, Gwen, and myself. You and Moriarty's manservant will be serving the whole of us. And you are going to wear the official manservant clothes of Camelot with utmost honour, of course. Tradition is really important during those festivities.'

Arthur took out the horrid feathered hat from behind his back and threw it at Merlin, who reluctantly caught it.

'Go prepare, and be there at seven sharp.'

Merlin moaned. He did not have a good feeling about the banquet. And not only because of the hat.

At seven past two, Merlin was ready to enter the banquet hall. The whole kitchen had laughed at him – they had tried to pity him for a few seconds, but it had just been too hard. The mighty warlock looked at his despicable hat, seriously considered roasting it, but put it back on his head – what he did for the prat, seriously. He sighed.

Merlin pushed the servant's door open and discreetly went to Arthur's side. Moriarty's manservant was already there, filling the two Kings' goblets with wine.

Arthur, who look bored out of his mind, threw him a sharp look, pointing at the other servant: 'See, here is a good servant that arrives on time.' Merlin tried not to roll his eyes in front of the guests – it wasn't his fault he was late, it was the hat's.

Gwen was chatting pleasantly with Moriarty and his ambassador – Merlin nearly crippled his nose in horror –, and the Knights tried not to look too bored. Everything seemed totally normal.

The warlock tried to shake off his head the foreboding feeling he had had for the entire day.

Arthur took a sip of his wine.

Merlin tensed.

Moriarty smirked.

The Knights stopped their chatting.

Arthur began coughing blood. His eyes rolled in their sockets.

Everyone was petrified. Merlin was first to regain movement, and was at Arthur's side by the instant. The King was not dead yet, but his pulse was weakening by the second.

He yelled at the visiting king – it could only be him anyway, and the smirk Moriarty had plastered on his evil face was a sufficient proof of his guilt.

'What did you do? Which poison is it?'

The knights confusedly stood up to catch the treacherous King, but were thrown back by an invisible force. Merlin sighed. The sorcerer was the black-haired and clear blue-eyed 'ambassador' of Essetir.

Moriarty smirked again. It was becoming predictable.

'This is the Oefgon poison. There is only one flower able to cure it. The species is so rare there is only one place where you can find it. I went there and took all the flowers. But fear not. I've got the antidote.'

Gwaine growled.

'You're lying. There must be other flowers of the same species! Why would we listen to you?'

'Perhaps I lied. Perhaps not. But anyway, the poison takes only five minutes to kill. So even if I was lying about the flowers, you have no way to heal your King in time.'

Merlin was panicking. Moriarty spoke the truth. Arthur was really dying, he could feel his pulse weakening by the second. And there was nothing he could do - he was bad at healing magic. Shabby. Shoddy.

He stopped his mental rambling – it always happened to him when he panicked.

'What do you want?'

'Oh…What I want is simple, really. I am going to give the antidote to Arthur only if someone here surrenders without fighting.'

Merlin cringed. He did not like where this blackmailing was going.

'Who do you want?'

'I want Emrys.'

* * *

**Mwahaha. I am so evil XD**

**I hope you are still enjoying the story :) Do not forget to review!**

**I'll bake you all virtual Gwaine's unicorn cookies if you do!**

**Until next chapter!**

**Airin9**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Bonjour, mes chers lecteurs :)**

***waves at readers shooting me blank looks***

**Yes, that was French :) (It means 'Hello, my dear readers')**

***cheers from the crowd***

**Here is s****ome action! I hope you enjoy :D**

**Don't forget to review at the end!**

**Thanks again to all who favorited or followed or reviewed this story!**

* * *

**_-Previously-_**

_'__Who do you want?'_

_'__Emrys.'_

Arthur coughed more blood and began convulsing. Despite all the warlock's effort to soothe the King with some discreet healing magic, there was no improvement.

'Tick Tock, goes the clock, you have two minutes left...'

Moriarty seemed to be enjoying this. His eyes shone with pure madness as he sing-sang his little annoying tune. He bit in his meat with a horrible flesh-tearing noise.

The manservant was sweating, trying to hold back his powers from lashing on Moriarty. Even If his chances to get out of this without revealing his magic were drastically low, his instincts were still reining his powers in.

'I am Emrys!'

Gwaine took a step forward with a resolute look on his face. He did not look back as the other knights gaped at him. The secret warlock knew what he had to do.

'I surrender. I will do anything you want. Just give Arthur the antidote.'

Moriarty looked at his ambassador – the hidden sorcerer – and nodded.

'Acwele!'

The sorcerer sent a blast of dark magic towards Gwaine. A deadly one. Gwaine knew it; he had traveled in countries where magic was allowed, and this was a curse no one, even with magic, could avoid or stop. The knight boldly watched his death coming towards him, closing his eyes and putting his mouth in a firm line.

The blast was stopped a few inches before Gwaine by a thin blue force field. The knight hesitantly opened his eyes, wondering why he was not dead already and gasped.

The manservant's eyes were still shining gold, his hand outstretched towards him. His face was an interesting mix of panic, worry, resignation and fury.

Moriarty smirked and took a sip of wine.

'So you are Emrys? I was expecting better than a manservant, to be honest. Nevertheless, who would have expected the most powerful warlock of the world to be such an idiotic boy? Really clever cover indeed.'

The warlock was having none of the twisted compliments. He wished he could have roasted the man on the spot, as much as that would usually horrify him. But Arthur was dying, and only Moriarty had the antidote – he'll wait a bit more before making a barbecue.

'I surrender. Now give Arthur the antidote.'

The King of Essetir laughed.

'I have no antidote. There is none. I have to admit it is a pity to sacrifice Arthur to find you; I had other plans for him. But life is life. And now I've got you. I can put kingdom to their knees with your magic.'

'There must be something to cure him. You're lying!'

'I am not.' He smirked. 'Tick tock, goes the clock, the King is passing away. Tick tock, goes the clock, and now we say good bye.'

The warlock tried to ignore the mad man's song. He took a long breath and put both his hands on Arthur's weak and bloody chest. Moriarty was right; Arthur only had moments.

The manservant closed his cerulean eyes and thought of all the healing spells he knew. He invoked them all at the same time, reciting them in his head. His hands shone gold on his friend's chest.

The warlock could feel his King regaining some strength; but the poison, enhanced by the darkest of magics, was fighting back. The two forces banged, poison against pure magic, and the shock radiated around Merlin. A blinding light invaded the room.

It was a fight for the Once and Future King's life.

His healing magic was not enough. He could feel the poison adapt and win. With a shout, he tried to heal Arthur again, but it was useless. The King died; but the warlock would not let go that easily. He recalled all the good times he had spent in Camelot, the meaning of his powers and destiny, his friendship with the dead man in front of him. The boy let out a single tear.

The poison, at the contact of the pure sorrow, recoiled. The warlock yelled and pushed his swirling emotions – dread, affection, hope- towards his friend. All traces of the dark magic vanished against his raw will. Arthur breathed in.

The blinding light that had invaded the banquet hall disappeared, letting everyone acknowledge the enormous power the manservant had just wielded. The warlock was still kneeling by the King's side, checking a stirring Arthur all over.

The knights and Gwen were flabbergasted, eyes wide and awed – finding out his magic was surprising, but this? It was unbelievable.

Moriarty's sorcerer, though, was not surprised in the slightest. He sneaked behind the gaping manservant, surprised by his own powers.

No one was quick enough to stop what ensued.

The antimagic shackles were clapped on the warlock's wrists with a dreadful metallic noise.

The warlock let out a single unearthly scream. Raw power erupted from him, but was contained by the bounds. His magic bounced against them, and hit him full square. He collapsed at Arthur's side, and passed out; his body twitched uncontrollably, trying to assimilate back the enormous power he had unleashed without control. After an awful long time, the unconscious boy finally stilled.

Arthur opened his eyes at the commotion, and saw his friend unconscious by his side. He shouted.

'Merlin! What have you done to him?'

Moriarty, who had been enjoying his victory from his seat while eating a chicken wing, let the wine glass he was holding in his left hand fall with a loud thump.

'_Merlin_?'

He stood up and was by the fallen warlock in the blink of an eye, looking down at the boy's body. He was lying on his belly, face flat against the cold stones.

Moriarty lifted his leg and turned the boy over with his right foot, letting his face be clear to all. Arthur choked back a protesting yell.

The otherwise confident villain looked taken aback. He whispered, eyes wide.

'But…this is him. I thought I had killed the Prince. This is Merlin!' He let out a sickly excited giggle. 'But that means…'

He smirked and straightened up.

'This is going to be so much more interesting that I thought!'

Arthur did not understand the scene in front of him. He had been poisoned – that much he had understood- and now that he woke up his manservant -seemingly a Prince?- was unconscious by his side. And Moriarty had even talked about taking over the world with Merlin. Uh-uh.

Moriarty's sorcerer was jubilating while he crept behind Arthur, who was pinching his arm to check if he was really awake.

The king's world went black as he received a well-adjusted kick in the head.

* * *

**Mwahaha!**

**Poor Arthur and Merlin! What will happen to them? dun dun DUUUUUUUN x)**

***ducking to avoid tomatoes from anxious readers***

**Do not forget to review!**

**See ya all on the next page :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Hi! I am sorry for the delay - school started up again, and it's quite mad already :) *sympathetic smiles from the crowd***

**I fear it will be the same for the rest of the month (I'll try to update twice a week or something like that) :D**

_**later update: I think I was being a little too optimistic about that xD *expertly dodging rotten potatos***_

**Another Camelot-centered chapter! But fear not, you'll soon get to see Sherlock!**

Moriarty's ambassador smirked. He waved his arm above the fallen King, and with a flash of his eyes, magically bound him.

The Knights and Guinevere were trying to break through the paralyzing and silencing spell he had put on them – they wouldn't succeed in getting out, that much was certain. There was no one to protect them now.

He looked at his accomplice. Moriarty was still staring at Merlin with surprise. The sorcerer shrugged - he would ask him about his reaction at hearing the servant's name later.

He whispered a counter spell and regained his normal appearance.

Gwen was fighting against her bounds. She couldn't quite believe how much had happened during the last five minutes. Her swirling emotions made her feel slightly dizzy, but she kept fighting while analyzing them. Worry for her husband and best friend. Amazement at discovering Merlin's magic and witnessing his incredible power. Frustration because of her helplessness. Rage against Moriarty and his sorcerer. Surprise at Moriarty's reaction to Merlin's name, and wonder about what his speech implied. Fear at thinking about what was going to happen to Camelot.

She watched as her husband was treacherously knocked out by the smirking sorcerer. She frowned – it wasn't the first time she saw such a satisfied smirk.

The sorcerer whispered a spell under his breath; his appearance shifted. His hair grew, he lost a few inches, but his smirk stayed the same. After a few seconds, all could see Morgana standing above her brother, eyes wild with madness.

Gwen and the knights fought even more against the bounding spell, with no avail.

They could only witness as the witch began a long dreadful litany, hands above her head. The skies darkened and a storm blew above the city as her mad eyes blazed a dirty gold. They could hear the people's shouts at the unnatural tempest. When Morgana uttered the last word, Camelot was definitely lost. The people fell under the witch's possession. Their eyes were her eyes, their words her words, their acts her will.

Gwen watched as the knights were possessed as well, one by one. She cried as the panicked light in their eyes went out. She was the last to be plunged into oblivion.

Morgana watched with gleeful eyes as Arthur's loyal knights roughly locked up their unconscious King and Emrys in the King's own cells.

Smirking, the witch went to her old chambers, passing by the main corridor and walking along her possessed minions. It had been a long time since she had been able to walk in Camelot without fear. She passed through her doors. They were being guarded by Arthur's own knights – Gwaine and Percival. She sat on her bed, waiting for Moriarty to come in. The door was flung open.

'Everything went according to plan. I told you Emrys would be powerful enough to cure the poison.'

Moriarty nodded absently.

'Yes, indeed. Phase one was a success.'

'Tell me, Moriarty. What was your reaction about Emrys's name about? Need I worry?'

The King of Essetir shook out of his thoughts and smirked.

'Not at all. It just so happens that Merlin is my little cousin, the one I had thought was killed by my men at age five.'

'You mean…'

'Merlin is the last dragonlord, the Lost Prince of Semloh.'

Morgana yelled, flying her hands above her head, and Moriarty couldn't help but step back. The rooom's windows exploded, and all the candles were taken out by the cold winter wind.

'A _dragonlord_!? But you know perfectly well the only spell to possess someone and his _powers_ do not work on dragonlords! The powers of Emrys would have been sufficient to take down the dragons of Semloh! Why did the idiot have to be a dragonlord too? We have to find another way of conquering Semloh, the last standing kingdom of Albion!'

A mirror exploded at the other side of the room.

'But there is another way. We don't even need to use strength.'

Morgana nearly pouted, crossing her arms in expectation.

'Arthur will sign the handover of his kingdom to me-_you_-, as we planned. And we've got an easier way of taking Semloh down.'

Morgana's fist hit her bedtable, which broke under the magically-increased strength. She was fuming. Moriarty played with her thin nerves.

'What is it?'

Moriarty smugly drew a wooden chair from under Morgana's dressing table and sat down. He crossed his legs, looked at his nails, and smirked.

'We will use Merlin as hostage, of course. If Mycroft does not abdicate, we will act in consequence against their little Lost Prince.' He sing-sang the last words in sick glee.

'Ah! But pray tell, how are we going to prove Mycroft that Merlin is still alive after fifteen years?'

'Well, here is the best part. Arthur didn't only invite Essetir for this peace treaty. Semloh is also coming. Either Mycroft or his younger brother Sherlock will get here in less than three days, and we will have two hostages against their kingdom. They will not dare to try something sneaky to free them. Albion will be ours at last!'

'Alright. I am letting you capture him. If you fail, you'll feel my wrath.' Her mirror exploded behind Moriarty, who pushed away the broken glass from his royal clothes.

The King's eyes glinted with rage at this outspoken threat, but he did not argue back. Best not to against such a powerful and mad sorceress, who had just destroyed half her chambers. He left the gloating witch alone with her dark thoughts and broken furniture.

* * *

Merlin woke up to a blinding headache. He couldn't quite remember how he had gotten his entire body to hurt that much. And something metallic was irritably clanging at his side. How had he gotten into Camelot's cells?_ Did Arthur know about his magic?_

The banquet's events came back to him. He lived them for the second time as vividly as if he were there again, and couldn't help but shiver and moan.

Someone was calling out his name. It was Arthur. The King hadn't seen Merlin performing magic, but surely someone from the banquet had told him since then. The warlock deduced Moriarty and his sorcerer had been stopped by the Knights. Merlin had certainly been arrested and thrown in jail whilst he was unconscious, and now the ungrateful prat was coming to take him to the pyre.

The King's voice was insistent. The clotpole couldn't let him laze about, even in his last moments. Merlin reluctantly opened his eyes.

He was indeed in Camelot's cells, chained up with magic-suppressing shackles – uncontrollable shiver-, but everything was not exactly as he had thought.

Arthur was chained to the opposite wall. The King's bounds were too short for him to reach Merlin, so Arthur was standing as close to Merlin as he could. He looked worried, but there was something else bothering him.

The warlock moaned to signal his awareness and get Arthur to stop calling his name and increasing his headache.

'Are you alright, Arthur?'

'I feel as if I had just been poisoned, but that's to be expected. You?'

'I am okay.'

'Don't lie to me. You are far from looking your usual annoying self.'

'Thanks, clotpole. I feel as though all your horses have trampled on me one by one. And I've got quite a headache. But I'll be alright. Is there something bothering you?'

Arthur gestured to the cell and rolled his eyes.

'I mean, apart from being locked up in your own cells?'

The King groaned – count on Merlin to point out the embarrassing elements of their predications. Nevertheless, he shifted awkwardly and avoided Merlin's gaze.

'When I woke up, you were unconscious by my side. I called out your name. Moriarty, who had been talking about how he was going to take over the world with your help,' – Arthur snorted, pretexting obliviousness, but carefully observed Merlin as he looked away – 'stood up and took a closer look at you. He recognized you and rambled on how he thought he had killed you.'

Merlin looked at Arthur with a frown, but Arthur could swear there was a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. And of fear. The King of Camelot took a long breath, and calmly asked:

'Do you have magic, Merlin?'

He hadn't been expecting the boy's reaction. Merlin sagged and started trembling, looking away. He let out a shuddering breath and tried to pull himself together.

'What makes you think that?'

'Moriarty believes you are the Lost Prince of Semloh.'

'I am not.' He didn't sound as if he really believed himself.

'Are you Hunith's son, Merlin?'

The boy grabbed his legs, pulling them close to his chest. He closed his eyes.

'I-I am not. My mother-_Hunith_ found me in the forest when I was around five. I was unconscious because of a gash on the head. When I woke up, I found out I had lost my memories. I didn't even know my own name. She waited some weeks to see if I regained some memories and remembered my name, but as I didn't, she decided to name me after the Lost Prince she had heard about. But I can't be him: she found me unconscious miles away from Semloh, in the south of Essetir, on the exact day he disappeared. No one could possibly travel that far in a single day.'

Arthur frowned. Merlin definitely didn't sound convinced, and the King wasn't letting it go.

'You haven't answered my first question. Have you got magic?'

His manservant-no, _friend_- bore his eerie blue eyes in Arthur's. He looked sad, even resigned. Straightening up, he calmly spoke:

'I do.'

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**Reveal time :D**

**I love reviews (hint hint) :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Hi everyone!**

**Yesterday I engaged a staring contest with the double of Benedict Cumberbatch.**

**I went to a classic music concert, and I sat in the first row. The clarinetist was playing right in front of me during the whole show; and he looked just like Sherlock. ****Naturally I did not stop staring at him – I mean, so much that I think he thought I was a psycho– or that he had a really big red spot on his nose. But really, the resemblance was astonishing – even the mannerism is the same! The clarinetist had the same wrinkles while frowning, the same smile, the same shape of eyes, everything.**

**I looked on internet if I could find a picture on which he looked like Benedict Cumberbatch, but I didn't find any. Pity ^^ I wanted to show my fellow readers my discovery!****  
**

**So, when he stood up during the ovation, I was still staring at him and gaping at the resemblance like a goldfish – and a rather stupid/psycho at that. ****He was looking over at the whole public when he saw I _still_ hadn't stopped staring at him for no reason, so he started looking at me too. I stared at him for a few more moments, and he kept looking too, so I looked away for like three long seconds, and tried to find some interest in my clapping hands.**

**I glanced sidelong at him to see if he was still looking at me, and _he was_. He was even biting his lip and trying not to laugh. I stared back during the whole ovation, and our staring contest was only broken when the musicians left the scene. It was really funny and awkward at the same time.**

**And that was only at the break between the two parts. I don't even know how I made it out of the second one without bursting out laughing.**

**Anyway. That made me think I had to write a chapter with Sherlock, so here it is :D**

***cheering crowd***

**Hope you enjoy and remember that I love reviews! *winking***

**Thanks for reading!**

**Oh, and thanks again to all who reviewed this story: Souffle Girl in a Blue Box (I love your user name by the way), IndiaMoore, Vivig1212, messie23 and as well as Anonymous and Guest :) And thanks for alerting, following and favoriting this story!**

* * *

Sherlock was currently staying in a tavern near Essetir's border. He had already solved some cases this week near the Easter coast, and had now had to move to another region so that Mycroft wouldn't be able to find him. He wished his ennoying brother would stop looking for him someday. It was getting ridiculous.

He was awoken by a sudden tremor coming from the restaurant room downstairs. From what he gathered, a man was looking for his seven-year-old boy that had disappeared the night before. Ahah! It was not the first time he heard this since he had settled in the region.

Smelling a good opportunity to get sword training, Sherlock grabbed his cloak and left the tavern.

A crying woman was sitting on a bench by the door, looking completely exhausted.

Sherlock sat by her.

'I know you are responsible of the seventeen children's disappearances that have been happening since the beginning of the month. Now, there's no need to try and escape, as you are not quick enough for me. Where were you yesterday at seven past fifteen?"

The woman looked utterly horrified at Sherlock's accusation and spluttered out, trembling:

'I-I was in my house, cooking dinner.' She hesitantly looked at him. 'I cooked some stew made of we-but that's-it's not important. My son was playing with the o-other children of the village in front of my house as he did on-on every evening before eating and going to sleep.' She burst into tears, but swallowed down and bravely continued. 'I heard a horse coming down the only street of the village. It certainly was the one we use for our harvests. But that's not the point. I went out to tell my kid to come for dinner but the children had dis-disappeared.' Sherlock frowned. 'I am innocent, I swear! I just want my little Tommy back!'

Alarmed by his wife's cries, the man from the tavern ran out of the building to check on her, brandishing a poorly sharpened sword.

Sherlock was already far. He was running after the slave traders that had kidnapped the children – the traces in the mud indicated the horse that had passed through the village drew a heavy carriage behind him, a carriage plenty of children. As for the direction, he ran south, to Essetir – the last kingdom of Albion where slavery was still allowed.

After finding a poorly concealed track – poorly for a detective of his level anyway – he evaluated the battle strength of his opponents. Seven men, and not weapon experts – pity, he needed some serious training. Some children were bound and going to Essetir by foot – his skin crawled at the thought of it-, and the youngest were in a cage drawn by the horse – it was a young white horse, that had been stolen three days before.

Sherlock just needed to get a weapon to force the cage's lock open. Mycroft had ordered him to always have a weapon on him, so naturally, he did not carry any. Not even a toothpick – and yes, it was a weapon, and a sharp one at it.

After a few hours of quick-walking after the bandits, he finally caught up with them.

The kidnapped children were all aged seven or older. Except for a little dark-headed one, that was exactly as old as Merlin when he was attacked. His brown innocent eyes widened when he spotted Sherlock, who was kneeling behind a tree. The Prince raised his finger to his mouth to shush the child, and the kid nodded in understanding. He looked as innocent as Merlin. Sherlock's cold heart beat faster.

He decided he would not go easy on the traders.

There were indeed seven bandits – satisfied smirk of Sherlock – his deductions were as accurate as ever. He quickly examined them all.

The bandit leading the horse had broken his leg at age twelve, and still limped slightly on his right side. The traumatism could be revived by a good angled kick. There were two traders walking around the cage and examining the kids greedily. Both planned to kill the other one and get the money raised by selling the children. The bandit walking behind them had a broken wrist. The young girl in the cage had bit him so deep the bone had been broken. Good point to the red-haired girl. The bandit walking at the back of the pack was half deaf and blind.

There were also two sorcerers, but those wouldn't be a problem. They did not even carry a normal weapon. He smirked – this would be a nice fight.

Sherlock sneaked behind the deaf bandit and knocked him out with a sharp blow to the temple. The man crumbled without a sound.

Sherlock fell in pace behind the bandits while deciding his course of action.

The bandit walking before him was the broken wristed one. His left hand rested on his sword sheath. Right.

Sherlock jumped on him. He grabbed the swollen hand and squeezed it. The man shouted in pain, and tried to get his attacker's hand off his. Sherlock took out the unprotected sword and hit the man's head with its hilt.

The convoy had stopped at the commotion, and now the traders were surrounding Sherlock.

One of the would-be leaders attacked him. The Prince snorted. It would take much more than a poorly trained bandit to take him down. A child shouted – the little one. He ducked, avoiding the blow, and attacked back with renewed fury. He knew he would win. Semloh's fighters were known and feared in all Albion. Their technique was unique. The sword and the fighter had to be one, fighting around multiple foes in a deadly choreography. Sherlock had perfected his technique long ago, and no one had ever been able to overpower him since then.

He parried another hit, and turned on himself, his black cloak flying around him as he danced around the battle. He drove his sword through the second leader that had treacherously been sneaking behind him– really, this was so obvious. The other leader was already trying to impale him. Sherlock lifted his leg and crushed the man's nose with his foot. The bandit ran away from him, shouting to the sorcerers to do something.

Sherlock nearly giggled. This was his favorite part.

The first sorcerer stepped in front of him, shouting with big grotesque movements:

'Acwele!'

Ah, the villains' favorite spell.

The Prince stared without blinking as the lethal spell was shot in his direction. He calmly raised his hand. The blast went around him, avoiding him as if it were pushed away by an invisible forcefield.

Sherlock had always been bestowed with this magic-repressing shield. No magic had ever been able to affect him unless he wanted to. And since Merlin's disappearance he had never allowed anyone's powers to go near him.

The magic hit the second sorcerer, and the Prince knew without bothering to turn around that he was dead by the second. Sherlock smirked as his attacker's eyes went wide. Five down, two to go.

He brandished his sword and rushed forward the gaping sorcerer. He regained his composure and shouted every spell he knew to shield himself from the magic-protected man. Sherlock inexorably advanced towards him, going through every shield the sorcerer put around himself without breaking a sweat. He was about to run him through when the sorcerer transported away. _Interesting_. It was the first time Sherlock fought against a sorcerer powerful enough to teleport. That was neat. His ability seemed to work even on the most powerful sorcerers.

The last trader, the limping man, had climbed on the horse. He rode away, pulling the cage and the children behind him.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

The road led to the edge of the forest. If he took a shortcut through the thick forest, he would get to the end of the forest on time.

Not sparing a look at the dead or injured bandits, he dived into the thick forest, bending under the branches, jumping over the bushes, running to save the children.

He found himself on the road before the edge of the forest. The carriage had been quicker than him, and was ahead.

He did not stop to catch his breath.

He was inches away from the children when a hooded man stepped in front of the carriage. The bandit was flung off his horse, which had stopped dead in front of the man. The trader got up and tried to escape, but the man shot him dead with a crossbow bolt. Lestrade put down his weapon and pulled down his hood. He grinned at a scowling Sherlock, who was certainly disappointed not to have landed the final blow. The Prince shrugged, broke the cage's lock with a well-adjusted sword blow, and helped the children out of it.

'Your Majesty! Are you alright?'

Sherlock grumped as he lifted the youngest child, the one that remembered him of Merlin, on the bandit's horse. The kid giggled.

'These children were kidnapped during the last weeks by slave traders. Mycroft should have sent you and your knights to save them. Tell him I am not doing all the job in his stead.'

'Sherlock! He didn't know about the bandits. You should not have gone after them alone. There were sorcerers in this group, and -'

He was panicked, wondering why his Prince went after those bandits alone.

'Lestrade, stop panicking. I am alright, see." He sighed. "Didn't Mycroft tell you? Sorcerers cannot do anything to me.'

The head knight shook his head, appalled at such an obvious recklessness.

'Sire, forgive me, but this is preposterous.'

Sherlock sighed and fastened his walk, pulling the horse behind him. The children were sitting in the cage and enjoying the ride home.

Lestrade, who had lent his horse to three of the children, was trying to keep up with his peculiar prince. He sighed fondly – what had his Prince thought by attacking those bandits alone?

The older knight was now running to keep up with his pouting prince's long legs. Sherlock took his breath.

'Believe me. Magic cannot affect me unless I want it too.'

'How-?'

'Don't know yet, working on it. Now, if you would go back and tell Mycroft I am not going anywhere for him.'

He gaped. 'How could you possibly know what I am going to ask you?'

'Why would he have bothered to send his head knight alone to fetch me except for making me travel in his lazy stead?'

'Right. As usual, you are right. You are meant to get to Camelot in two days' time to sign a -.'

'-peace treaty. I know.'

'As I was saying, you are already near Essetir, so you could get to Camelot on time, but you obviously already know that.' Sherlock did not even bother to nod. 'And you know that if I have to go back to the castle to tell the king to go in person, your brother will never be there in two days. You have to go for the sake of the kingdom. There is an escort waiting for you two miles north, in the tavern you slept.'

They entered the children's village. Heavy rain was falling on them and soaking the Prince's travel clothes. Sherlock did not even look like he had noticed – here again, you never know what he is thinking.

The parents got out of their house, and the children ran into their opened arm with happy shouts. The villagers acclaimed the two men that had saved their children.

Sherlock didn't even look like he was even listening to the praises, and Lestrade was getting increasingly annoyed by the unresponsive attitude of his Prince.

'Sherlock?!'

'Alright, I'll go. But first'

He addressed the whole village:

'I hope you'll manage without me. Have a nice rainy day.'

He mounted the bandit's horse under the flabbergasted peasants' stares and rode away alone.

So much for the Prince's waiting escort in the tavern.

Lestrade shook his head and smiled. Sherlock would never change.

* * *

**Please review and tell me what you think of this story :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_'Do you have magic, Merlin?'_

_'I do.'_

Arthur, in spite of the events, had not really been expecting such an answer. He had always known there was something about Merlin, but he hadn't thought he was enough of an idiot to do magic in Camelot. Seriously, magic in Camelot.

'I-I am sorry, Arthur.'

His King looked up with barely concealed emotions – though there were so many Merlin couldn't really know what he thought.

'I know I should have told you. I never used magic for evil, I swear.'

The King growled.

'You are a sorcerer! You are evil! How could you betray me like that?'

'I am not a sorcerer. I am a warlock! And yes, there is a huge difference, dollophead! I never had a choice!'

'You have chosen to learn magic. It is proof enough of your corruption!'

'I didn't learn magic! I always had it – I am almost certain I was born with it.'

'It isn't possible.'

'It is. My magic flows through me as your blood does in you. Erm…that sounded weird. I do have blood too, if you are wondering. Anyway.'

Arthur did not calm down.

'Then why aren't you zapping yourself out of here like the filthy _sorcerer_ you are?'

'_Warlock_! And first, I would never _ever_ think of leaving you here. And anyway, those manacles suppress my magic. I can't use it anything with them on. It is quite annoying really, because they itch a lot. And they give me quite a headache.'

Arthur was silent for a moment.

'I would never use my powers against you or Camelot.'

The King's voice was hoarse.

'Why wouldn't you? My father hunted down your kind for years.'

'You are not your father; and even if you are a prat, you are my best friend. And the Druids have a prophecy about you.'

'Really?'

'You are the Once and Future King, the greatest monarch that will ever live. You are also meant –' He hesitated – perhaps Arthur wasn't ready for this.

'Yes?'

It was now or never.

'-to restore magic to this land with the help of Emrys.'

'Oh! I remember now. Gaius told me the story when I was young. So you think I am the Once and Future King. Then, who is Emrys?'

Really, Arthur's obliviousness was reaching new heights. Merlin was about to roll his eyes when the cells doors was banged open.

The warlock jumped in surprise. He usually felt people before seeing them - it was what Arthur called his 'funny feelings', and not having his magic foresight was quite unsettling. He wondered what it was like not to be magic. _It must be so boring._

Morgana stepped in - of course, it was only now that he deduced the ambassador had been her all along. He should have known.

'Well, well, Emrys.'

She smirked as Arthur gasped.

'You are Emrys? But…'

'Yes, Arthur. He is. Anyway. This was all very interesting. Any other revelations you want to share with us, Merlin?'

The servant stared back with challenge in his eyes.

'No, that will be all for today. But if you want a piece of my mind, just unlock those bounds.'

She smirked.

'Really, Merlin? Is that all you've got? You really think I care for cheeky provocations. I have to say I didn't quite believe my eyes when you revealed your magic. You being Emrys was just laughable. And I still can't believe the mighty warlock was an idiot manservant all along. But then I thought of how you poisoned me' Arthur gasped again, and Morgana smirked 'and everything was clear. Emrys is a traitor to his kind. Now that's not why I am here.'

Merlin was about to explain his reasons to Arthur - but the witch wanted doubt to instil itself between her prisoners, and Merlin was not to have a chance to explain his actions. She waved her hand and thickly gagged the servant. He shouted but she flung him against the wall. He hit his head with a loud bang and passed out.

She turned around. Her helpless brother was trying to get to his manservant, but his chains were not long enough. She laughed and shortened the bounds even more, so that he could not move around at all. He shouted in indignation.

She smirked, and with a flash of her eyes, brought him to his knees.

'I need you to sign this paper. You see, I want to be a legitimate Queen, and I don't wish to kill you _yet_. It would be no fun.'

'I'll never hand you over my kingdom. You'll never get my assent.'

She laughed and waved him off.

'You _really_ are counting on your knights and my traitor of a maid to rescue you. Well, you can wait for a long time then. They are not coming.'

'What have you done to them?'

'The whole city is under my control. Your Queen does not even control her own thoughts. I know what she is doing at the moment, for I make her do it. I have possessed your people, and there is nothing you can do to get them back.'

Morgana laughed again. She turned around, her black dress swirling around her, and went to stand over Merlin. The manservant was still out cold. She kicked him in the ribs, which broke with a sickening crack, jolting Merlin into consciousness. He tried to let out a yell but shocked on the gag, and was left gasping for air. Tears welled at the corner of his eyes.

The witch laughed at Merlin's poor attempts to bit back his moans and went to the door. Before she closed it, she let the two prisoners see that their guardians were none other than Elyan and Leon.

'Sleep well, Pendragon, for you will need it.'

The door was closed in a loud bang.

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**:)**

**Review!**

**If anyone is interested by beta-ing this story, please tell me. I seriously need some double-checking :)**


	8. Chapter 8

***creeps around the corner, then waves hesitantly***

**Hi everyone!**

**I know, it's been nearly a month (a month minus a day!). It is entirely my fault!**

**I'll update quicker next time!**

**Anyway, I am going to be late for my biology class so have a nice time reading this and REVIEW !**

* * *

_Sleep well, Pendragon!_

* * *

The door was closed in a loud bang.

Arthur fumbled around his shackes, trying to get to his friend again. It was useless. He couldn't even twitch his heavily chained legs.

Merlin was lying on his back, trying to catch his breath. He was shivering, letting out pitiful moans now and then.

Arthur stopped to analyse his feelings. Never head towards a situation without having set your mind, that's what his father always told him.

He contemplated his emotions, and within seconds understood that Merlin-Emrys-whatever was his same idiotic friend than the day before. The only difference was that now Arthur knew a bit more about his lazy manservant.

* * *

Merlin couldn't breathe. The gag Morgana had used was boring deep into his mouth, blocking him from taking in airy. He could only make whizzing sounds as he tried to put himself in the less painful position and ease his cracked ribcage.

His chest was on fire. He had already broken a rib or two, but this was a new level of pain. He didn't even dare to probe his ribcage to know how many bones Morgana had broken. There was no use - he was almost certain that not a single rib had resisted her kicks.

He let out a pitiful moan, and bit his lip to stop another groan.

Far away, past the clouded haze of pain that monopolised his mind, he could hear Arthur calling out for him with barely concealed concern.

Merlin wanted to reassure him, but he had not enough energy to talk. He twitched, shaking his horribly painful ribs, and hesitantly tried to take a new breath through the filthy cloth that blocked his mouth. He shocked.

He couldn't breathe. It was just too hard to move his chest. He gasped, trying to gulp some precious mouthful of air. He was beginning to see black dots, and knew that if he did not find a solution, he was going to die in the next minutes, in this cell. And no one would be able to save Arthur if he died.

The magic-suppressing shackles heatened up as his panicked powers tried to heal his ribs. The shackles stopped him from using his magic on his environment, but he imagined that perhaps, just perhaps, he could use it on himself. Perhaps he could heal himself! He hoped his powers would co-operate, because even without shackles his healing magic randomly -let's be honest, never- worked. But he had to try – it was a life or death situation. Merlin realised he was able to ramble in thoughts even whilst fighting for air, and decided he would continue this mental self-conversation later - hopefully.

The warlock closed his eyes and concentrated. Going into shock would be signing his death sentence. His power was flowing frantically through his broken body. He calmly directed it towards his chest, and mentally pronounced a healing spell. He knew without opening his eyes that his body was shining as the bones repaired themselves at an unnatural speed.

He moaned as the ribs snapped back together with a loud 'pop!', but then nearly giggled in relief and shock. A last mental spell and the gag was ripped off his mouth.

He breathed in normally, sat up without any pain in the chest and after wavering a little, bore his blue eyes in Arthur's surprised ones. He grinned.

* * *

'Merlin! What happened?' He was frantic. 'You were struggling to breathe, and then you just went still and your body decided to shine. I thought you had died! And now you are just grinning as if nothing had happened! Idiot!'

Arthur nearly pouted, but decided against it. A King does NOT pout.

'How did you heal yourself!'

Merlin bit his lip.

'Erm…I can still use my ma-' He stopped dead. He was still unsure about Arthur's opinion on the M word.

Arthur took on the hint and smiled.

'I realised I didn't care if you had magic or not. You are still the same bumbling idiot. Knowing you have magic or not won't change my friendship with you.'

Merlin's grin got ridiculously wide.

'Did you actually admit -?'

'Yes. Shut up, Merrrlin. Now what were you saying about being able to use your powers?'

The younger boy closed his eyes and probed his powers.

'It seems that I can use my magic on myself, as in I can heal myself. But I can't make it leave my body yet, the shackles block any interaction with the environment.'

'Meaning…'

'I can't unchain us or open the door or blow it off or attack Morgana or –'

Merlin was on a very long list of what he couldn't do.

It seemed having back some control over his powers made him euphoric and talkative – even more than usual. Knowing him, he could have rambled on all day. Arthur raised his shacked hands in defeat.

'Alright, alright, I get it.'

'Fantastic!'

'So we have to get the shackles off you...'

'...Correct!'

'I am thinking, Merrrlin!'

'Don't think too much, you don't want to hurt yourself!'

He piped in.

'Idiot!'

* * *

That had been three days ago.

Three days since Moriarty's treachery. Three days that Arthur and Merlin had spent locked up in a cell. Three days not getting food and drinking the water that dripped from the cold wet walls. Three days since Morgana had last showed up. She obviously wanted to starve Arthur and force him to sign the handover of the kingdom. And obviously, she did not recall Arthur's stubborness.

Merlin relentlessly tried to get the shackles off. Each time he tried to concentrate his magic on them, they grew unbearably hot and burnt his wrists. Even if Merlin could heal them instantly - he had actually become quite good at healing magic over the last few days-, the burns left painful cicatrices. And each time he tried to get them off, he passed out to wake up hours later, feeling totally drained.

Despite of everything, Merlin was not affected by the lack of food or water – his strong bumbling magic sustained him.

But Arthur was growing weaker and weaker, and Merlin was scared of what might happen to him if he didn't find a way out soon.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried again. The manacles became red-hot, as if they were put over a fire. Merlin blocked out the seering pain, and dug even more in his magic. He was nearly there…but his magic retailed again and shot back into him. He flew against the wall, banging his head on it, and passed out.

* * *

The cell's door flew open for the first time in days.

Moriarty and Morgana stepped in, under Arthur's weak but watchful eyes. He had silently observed Merlin as he tried again to free them, hurting himself in the process. He had tried to tell him to stop, but his friend was a self-sacrificing idiot, and he wouldn't listen.

The witch smirked at seeing the unconscious body of his friend, but turned her attention back onto him. Her green eyes locked up with his.

'Ready to sign the handover?'

Arthur shook his head, his eyes set on the wall behind Merlin. He would not to betray his fatigue. The lack of water had made his throat so dry it was impossible for him to make a sound.

Morgana laughed - she did not even really care about the treaty; it seemed torturing her brother was a lot more enjoyable for her. He maintained his gaze on the grey wall.

'Pity. Anyway, Moriarty and I have a surprise for the two of you. You are moving out. I hope you'll enjoy your new accommodations.'

She raised her hands.

_'__Bedyrne us thanonweard to Essetir!'_

Arthur felt himself fall. The world went black.

* * *

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	9. Chapter 9

**Hi everyone!**

**Hope you enjoy this new chapter!**

**Don't forget to review!**

**Chapter 9**

Sherlock had ridden almost non-stop, passing through blurry villages and jumping over small forest streams. He was even in advance by a day when he reached Camelot's gates...

The Prince always arrived a bit earlier that planned in foreign city. He had elaborated a whole strategy: getting to know the city and the hosts' intentions, and NOT barging in like an idiot in the throne room, right into a possible trap.

So far, it had always worked.

He pulled his hood up to hide his recognizable features – though he doubted much people would recognize his high cheekbones and crystalline eyes – and rode past the bridge that crossed the castle's moats. He dismounted the white mare the bandit had kindly landed to him the day before entering the city. The guards at the gates did not even spare a glance at him, their normal brain only assessing him as one of the many merchants that made their way into the city. Idiots.

The Prince got into the lower town, pulling the horse behind him. The market was swarming with people. At first sight, everything seemed normal – the merchants peddling their wares, buyers negotiating with big gestures, children playing around the fountains – but there was definitely something off.

Sherlock could feel a subtle scent of magic in the air, swirling around the city and influencing the people somehow. He felt his anti-magic powers raising to protect him against that strange spell. He closed his eyes, and let down his first level of barriers. He took a step back – the magic had nearly blasted him off his feet. Whatever that spell was, it certainly was _not_ friendly.

Eyebrows furrowed, he looked around. The people of Camelot were casually chatting, exchanging goods and gossips. But there was something…

He took one calm breath. There was only one way of knowing the purpose of the spell. Letting it through his protections. It was quite risky, but it was the only thing he could think of.

He let down his shields.

The magic blasted him off his feet and flew him into a hard stone wall. He collapsed.

Sherlock writhed on the ground, eyes wide, frantically gripping his throat. Tendrils of magic were shocking him, trying to invade his mind and manipulate it. He was blacking out - he realised that if he lost consciousness now, he might never wake up.

He closed his eyes and concentrated to pull the protection up again.

He succeeded at the last second and was left panting on the ground for several minutes.

When he got his sight back – the lack of air had temporarily blinded him-, he saw that no one had noticed his odd invisible fight. He let out his breath and propped himself up.

The spell had instantly tried to take over his mind, to modify his knowledge of the situation of Camelot's monarchy and control his very being.

He shivered.

From what he had felt, he knew that the people of Camelot believed King Arthur was a traitor and that Morgana Pendragon had saved them all from a civil war.

Arthur Pendragon was being held prisoner in his own cells.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

He visualized the confidential castle's map Mycroft had shown him years before, that included all the entries and ways to the dungeon of Camelot. He went through his memories and quickly found what he wanted in his mental archive.

There was only one passage that could be unguarded at this hour of the day. It was a tunnel starting in the forest and leading directly to the last cell on the left of the second dungeon corridor. He interiorly grinned and headed for the forest. He passed by the unobservant guards at the gate. They did not even wonder why the weird hooded merchant left Camelot so soon, without having bought anything.

He tied his horse to a tree by the entrance of the tunnel. It was closed by six thick metal bars that looked deeply embedded into the stone. He sighed.

He pulled the first bar with his full strength, expecting it to be firmly rooted in the wall, and landed flat on his back. The six bars were in his hands, dislodged from the wall as though it was made of butter – someone had already taken that entrance and camouflaged his passage.

_Well, that went surprisingly well. Now I just have to get a King out of his own cells, break a powerful enchantment and win over an evil sorceress. Next time there is a diplomatic visit to do I'll force Mycroft to go._

He sneaked into the dungeons.

The cells were empty except for a slumbering guard.

He silently walked through them, looking in every cell for the king of Camelot. There was no one.

He was going back to take another look. His feet got caught into some material. He stumbled. There was a blue piece of cloth, dotted with dry blood, on the ground. He swiftly grabbed it. His breath got caught in his throat. It was a neckerchief, just like the ones Merlin loved to wear as a child.

Sherlock wavered and caught himself on a wall. He closed his eyes, took a long shivering breath, and blocked out his rampaging emotions.

He folded the cloth in his cloak's pocket and calmly let his focus switch again to the cells.

There was someone breathing on his neck.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone!**

**Here is a new chapter! I hope you like it, and don't forget to review! I need beta-ing!**

**The great Holmes reunion - shamelessly quoting Indiamoore's review - is approaching! Dun Dun DUUUUUUN!**

**I know you are all looking forward to it, and I am sorry for the wait! I certainly hadn't thought the first part of this story would be so long...**

**The whole fic was supposed to be 10k words long, with the Holmes meeting at the half (more or less lol), and here I am at 15k+ and not even done with the first part...**

**Not that I mind at all, I am having a lot of fun writing this!**

**I want to say a huuuuge thank you to all my reviewers! You can't imagine how much your wonderful praises mean to me! Thank you so much!**

**Guest: I'll try to involve John in this, but I hadn't put him in my plan, so I don't promise anything... I'll try :)**

**And IndiaMoore, I am a huge fan of your fics, please write many more! I have a fangirl fit (aka giggling in front of my screen) each time I read your reviews!**

**I dedicate this chapter to all those who favorited, alerted or reviewed this fic! You are all awesome!**

* * *

_There was someone breathing on his neck._

**Chapter 10**

He slowly turned towards the guard that had silently moved from the door to him while he stupidly got a panic attack because of a piece of blue cloth.

It was a brown haired man, whose eyes were glazed over by the spell. His chillingly empty gaze bore into Sherlock's blue eyes.

The knight did not even blink once.

Sherlock inconspicuously took a step back, but the guard noticed – just his luck, this guard had an average IQ. He grabbed his arm and twisted it against his back.

Sherlock tried to free himself without hurting the possessed man, but he would not let go - _everytime_ he tries to be comprehensive-, so he kicked him in the knees. The man let out a "oomph" as he let go of Sherlock. The prince turned around and tripped the man, who hit his head on the stone ground and was out cold instantly.

Sherlock pulled back his sleeves, grabbed the neckerchief that had fallen out of his cloak during the little commotion and put it again in his pocket.

_Then_ he heard it.

There were people coming down the stairs.

He started to run back to the tunnel, not bothering anymore about being silent, but caught the glimpse of somehing on his right. He went back on his steps to look through in the cell. No one was to be seen.

He caught his breath.

But there was someone behind him – again.

He whipped around.

Morgana – guessing the mad-looking woman was the famous witch wasn't hard, you should have seen her smirk – was standing there, arms crossed. There was someone else leaning against the wall in the shadows, but Sherlock could not see his face.

He took out his sword and lunged forward, but before he could so much as step towards them both his arms were grabbed by behind him. He sighed

'Well, well, well, who have we got here?'

Before he could let out a witty remark of his, the man of the shadows stepped in the pale daylight. Sherlock's legs gave way under him and he would have collapsed if not for the iron grip of the men holding his arms. He was _almost_ thankful.

'Isn't this Sherlock? Oh, dear, Mycroft sent his little wayward brother to Camelot without suspecting what awaited him there…Poor little Sherly.'

Moriarty.

For a moment, Sherlock was seven years old again, clutching his older brother's hand as his father choked on air. As he slowly agonized on the stone floor. As his face gradually took a horrible tint of grey, and his regal blue eyes lost their usual spark.

Sherlock shook himself out of his memories and let out a shudder. He did not look up, not daring to cross his cousin's stare. The mocking eyes would only bring back other painful memories, and make him lose his fragile hold on reality.

'I am not going to capture you, Sherlock. No, no, I have prepared a nice surprise for you, and I want you to get it _yourself_.'

Sherlock did not trust his voice to speak back. He was already concentrating on blocking his mind from going through another memory – he knew this time it would be about Merlin.

'Tick Tock, goes the clock, I have the two people you seek. Tick Tock, goes the clock, they'll die if you don't find them.'

Without further taunts, Morgana and Moriarty transported away.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

He inspired deeply and blocked out all remnants of the emotional shocks he had been subjected to in less than an hour. He would have to settle down somewhere and try to do something about his memories. But not now, he had a King – and apparently someone else? - to save.

He gathered his thoughts.

Arthur was held in Essetir. That much was blatantly obvious.

But who was the second person he supposedly sought? He would have to figure it out on his way to Essetir.

His attention shifted to reality.

The possessed men that had held him throughout his mad relative's speech were still twisting his arms behind his back. And they did not seem to be considering to move. He sighed.

Sherlock's right arm was held by the brown-haired knight that had first seen him – he had woken up remarkably quickly -, and his left arm by an old man in long red robes – the Court Physician.

Both men had an unnaturally strong grasp - Morgana's doing.

He kicked the young man to get away, with perhaps more strength than needed. Not that he particularly cared. Rough day.

The Knight mechanically let go off him after a few more blows and left without a word.

One done. Next.

Sherlock looked at the older man, whose hands were still firmly clamped on his arm. The elder was looking at him oddly, mouth agape, a dawn of recognition on his face. Sherlock frowned, and tried to remove the weird man's hands from his arm.

He touched the physician's hand.

The old man had magic – magic in Camelot, ah! Who would have thought?-, and his powers were seemingly reacting with Sherlock's abilities. He was breaking though the possession.

After a few more seconds, the Physician blinked away the eerie glaze in his eyes and stared at Sherlock in astonishment. He did not let go of his arm though, much to the prince's displeasure.

'Have I met you before?'

At that point it became obvious to Sherlock that that man would only make him lose precious seconds with his pointless questions.

'No. Now, if you would just let go of my arm and return to your patients?'

The man's eyebrows shot up at Sherlock's rudeness.

'You look familiar though. Must be the age. How did you escape Morgana's spell? How did you break it on me?'

Sherlock grumped.

'I could free you because you have magic. How I did it is none of your business.' He adopted a more regal stance and continued. 'Go heal people, and let me go.'

The man did not seem to believe Sherlock, but knew it was useless to press on the matter. He was about to let go of his arm – finally – but at the last moment bore his eyes in Sherlock's.

'When you free the King, don't leave his manservant behind, even if Arthur might want to go without him. Do not let the manservant behind. Please.'

Sherlock tried not to shudder - gods, that one knew how to be creepy -. Trying not to show his edginess, he shrugged.

'Alright. Whatever. Just leave and go do whatever you usually do. I will get the King _and _his manservant in Essetir – yes, Moriarty is holding them captive in his castle. I'll be back in less than five days with the both of them.'

The Court Physician looked _a little _relieved – Sherlock tried not to look offended at the lack of trust, but it was understandable. The man obviously cared from the manservant.

The elder finally released Sherlock from his magically enhanced iron grasp.

The Prince strode off without looking back - shudder -, wondering why the King's manservant had been captured instead of being possessed like everyone else. Odd.

He was still massaging his arms as he reached his horse. Without losing more time, he set off to Essetir. He would hopefully get there in one day. In the meantime, he had to think of a plan to avoid the trap Moriarty had set for him. And to find out who the second person he sought was – it could not be the manservant, could it?.

* * *

**There you go! I hope you liked this chapter, and don't forget to tell me about your impressions!**

**Another Doctor Who reference for Soufflé Girl In a Blue Box!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone!**

***waving to the crowd of angry readers***

**It's been...3 weeks...!**

***ducking to avoid rotten tomatoes***

**I'm really sorry about that! I had this chapter all written and ready to be posted on a memory stick, but I accidentally erased everything that was on it (I did it on a friend's computer and I noticed I had lost everything at home, and it was too late.). So I had to re-plan this story using what I remembered from the original plot, and re-write this chapter.**

***sympathetic smiles from the crowd***

**I think procrastination is also guilty for the lateness of this update.**

***boos from the crowd. More rotten tomatoes to dodge***

**Anyway, I am really sorry and I'll try to update sooner from now on (hopefully!) xD**

***cheers***

**This chapter was not in the original plot. I added it after it was suggested by Guest = Thank you so much for your support and ideas, and I hope this will live to your expectations! :) :) :)**

**Jayfire: Thanks! I hope you'll like this new chapter!**

**Guest: I love your review! I just do!**

**Rocker Lullaby: First, I think your penname is really poetic! :) As to your review...I am trying to get to the meeting as quickly as possible. It will hopefully be in the next chapter (I am really looking forward to writing it, but I have to set everything before making it happen). I am sorry I am taking so long! xD**

**TobiasBoon: I honestly hadn't thought about that! *laughes* It is such a great idea! I am brainstorming every idea I can come up with as to what Mycroft's special ability could be. If you have a suggestion, feel free to make it :)**

**Juliette: Thank you so much for the review! I am really happy you love their relationship! Please keep reviewing!**

**A huge thank you to all that alerted or favorited this story!**

**So, here is another Sherlock-centered chapter :)**

**Allons-y!**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Sherlock rode into the village at dawn. He had left Camelot the evening before and had only stopped once at a little stream to water the horses. So far, he had not crossed bandits' paths, and he was grateful for the time saved.

It was the first village he encountered in Essetir. He was only two miles away from Camelot's borders and as much as he told himself he was being silly, he was still on edge. There was no way Moriarty was chasing him. He knew perfectly well that Sherlock would have to walk into his trap in Essetir. But Sherlock's childhood memories were resurfacing, and he couldn't help but be afraid. There. The emotionless Prince was scared.

He dismounted his horse and tied it to a tree by the only village's tavern. He would have a little nap before resuming his race towards Essetir. The last time he had had a proper sleep seemed like ages ago. He yawned as he pushed the tavern's door open.

The room was dimly lit, the only window obscured by wooden shutters. It was desert apart from the tavern holder and a fair headed man sitting at the back of the room. Ex-knight, limp to his right leg. He would cause no problem should he engage a fight. The man was quietly eating his breakfast. Talking of which…his stomach rumbled.

He sat down near the door after ordering a full meal to the overjoyed tavern holder. Obviously clients were rare in that small village.

The man was even humming to himself as he prepared Sherlock's food. Yep, clients were definitely scarce. Which was good; no one would come in and disturb his quick rest.

He swallowed down the enormous place the tavern holder put in front of him, leant back against the wall and closed his eyes. After a few peaceful seconds, the tavern holder tapped him on the shoulder to tell him he was going to get supplies and trusted him for guarding the place for a quarter of hour. Sherlock just nodded and closed his eyes again with an annoyed scowl.

Just as sleep was beginning to take over his tired body, the door burst open.

His warriors instinct kicked in and he shot up from his seat.

A small girl, with dishevelled red hair and a shabby brown dress, five years old max, ran into the tavern and ducked behind the bar, banging into chairs as big as her on her way. She let out a scared whimper from her shelter.

A burly man in his late thirties entered next, an old blunt sword in his right hand. He stepped inside the tavern and banged the door close behind him.

He obviously hadn't noticed the fair-headed man at the back, nor Sherlock, who was standing in the shadows behind him.

His strong voice boomed across the almost empty tavern.

'Where ar'ya, witch? Sneaky littl' druidess…Come out, and ya' death'll be quick!'

Sherlock's blood ran cold. This situation was too much alike the one fifteen years before during which he had lost his little brother. He looked around to find a suitable weapon. His eyes zoomed on a candlestick of sorts decorating the table at his right. He would have to be quick to conserve the effect of surprise.

Before he could lean and grab the candlestick the other client took out his sword and lunged towards the burly man with an angry shout. The latter brandished his own sword and blocked the first blow.

The other man kept shouting and bringing blow after blow over the burly man that was three heads taller than him.

'You'

Clang.

'Have no right.'

Clang.

'To attack a young child'.

Clang-clang.

Sherlock lunged towards the chandelier and joined the other client's side, who shot him a short surprised glance. The Prince grinned at him as he felt his adrenalin rushing through his veins.

The burly man yelled in anger 'how dare you!?' and with a strong hit sent the smaller fair-headed man's sword flying. He scrambled after it, momentarily leaving Sherlock to guard his back.

The Prince tried to parry another strong blow with the weird candlestick thing, but it broke under the impact and Sherlock had just enough time to jump backwards and dodge the slash. This sudden movement made him lose his momentum, and he stumbled back. The man sent the Prince flying against a chair with a kick and put his sword to Sherlock's throat with a furious growl.

_Stupid stupid stupid! I should have known better!_

He knew the man would not hesitate. He was out for blood.

The Prince frantically looked around him for some solution, but there was nothing close enough to him. He was going to die here, on a stupid diplomatic mission. On the ground and unarmed. Seriously, if there had been a next time he would have forced Mycroft to move his lazy backside and go to Camelot himself. He closed his eyes and waited for the sword pressing against his throat to slash it open.

He heard a faint sound of footsteps behind his executioner and slowly crept one eye open. The man holding him at sword point crunched his eyebrows and started to turn his head to look behind him, but he was knocked out before he knew what was going on.

The fair-headed man rubbed his fist with a smirk and helped Sherlock up.

'What should we do with him?'

Sherlock's answer was immediate.

'Tie him and leave it to the villagers to decide.'

His mouth then twitched into a weird scowl. He did not like admitting he had needed help.

'Thanks for, you know.' He looked down. 'Saving me.'

The other man smiled.

'No problem.' He gestured in the bar's direction. 'What about bringing the girl to a healer? She seemed very frightened and to be in a pretty poor shape.'

A few minutes later, the other man and Sherlock had brought little Lily to the town's healer. The man had wanted to ask someone the location of the healer's house, but no villager was up at this unearthly hour of the morning. He had been about to go back to the tavern and wait for the holder to show up again when Sherlock had yawned and tiredly raised his arm to point a house near the village's entrance. The man had cast him a questioning look and been really surprised to see Sherlock had been right when a kind-looking healer had answered the door. The woman had fluffed over the 'poor red-haired thing' and closed the door, leaving the two men to stand awkwardly in front of the house, waiting for news.

The fair-headed man, whom the woman had called 'John', fidgeted on his feet for the third time in a minute. After a few more seconds, he looked at Sherlock, and finally started the conversation.

'Why did you help me?'

'Why did you want to stop the man from hurting a druid in the first place?' Sherlock shot back. He did not let the man answer though. 'We are near Camelot, and most people here are opposed if not downright hostile towards magic.'

Sherlock smirked.

'But you obviously are not from here. You were a head knight in Essetir until one year ago, when you decided to leave the country. You have never returned there because you would be in danger. You suffer from a limp in the right leg, which disappears when a fight's adrenalin kicks in. You also have a little brother called Harry that hasmagic and lives with a group of druids.'

John's eyes were round as saucers but he managed to choke out a: 'Stop reading my thoughts!'

The younger man grinned before answering.

'Am not. I simply observe. The way you reacted back in the tavern shows you have a close relative that has magic. You also acted very protectively, which means this relative is younger than you. You were reading a letter from a certain Harry that, from the type of paper linen and ink he used, lives with the druids. Younger brother with magic. The fact you were a knight but stopped is obvious because of your general stance.'

John shot him a mock-offended look.

'Oh, come on. You hold yourself square and straight even while eating breakfast. It is so obvious. You carry a fine-crafted sword, so you could be a rich merchant, but you keep it close to you in a way only soldiers do. You are not on duty though, and have not been for quite a long time, because you have not sharpened your sword for a long time. There was no need for it off duty. As for your limp, you were leaning slightly on your left leg while sitting, which means the right one bothers you. It was injured during battle and left an underlying ache, which disappears when you are in the middle of a fight. Some would think you want a normal safe life, away from the war, but it isn't true. You have been yearning for action ever since you left duty.'

Sherlock rubbed his hands, waiting for a verdict with a weirdly amused smile.

'Wow.' He grinned. 'And that was the _hugest_ understatement of my life.'

'The name is Sherlock Holmes.'

**:) :) :)**

**I just couldn't resist using that quote!**

**Don't forget to review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Bonjour tout le monde !**

**I've been ****_relatively_**** quick to update this time *cheering crowd*, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Don't forget to tell me about it by reviewing!**

**Oh, and try not to kill me...the Sherlock/Merlin meeting is not in this chapter either. It will be in the next...hopefully :) *readers sharpening their knives and shooting me evil looks***

**Thanks to Guest and Rocker Lullaby for the really nice reviews about the last chapter!**

**In this chapter I used TobiasBoon's idea about the special abilities...further A/N about at the end of the chap!**

**Here is some psycological angst for Sherlock. I hope you like that :) *cheers***

**Bonne lecture ! (that's French :D)**

* * *

_'__The name is Sherlock Holmes.'_

* * *

**Chapter 12**

'John Watson'. He stuck out his hand with a smile. 'You are the Prince of Semloh, aren't you?'

'Yep.' Sherlock stopped, considering his answer. 'I am on a diplomatic mission. Mycroft sent me to Camelot sign a peace treaty between Essetir, Camelot and Semloh. I should have known Moriarty would do something sneaky.'

John shot him a questioning look.

'When I got to Camelot, the city had fallen to the hands of Moriarty and Morgana. Everyone in the kingdom is possessed, even Queen Guenivere. Arthur is held prisoner in Essetir, and Moriarty expects me to walk right into his trap.'

John was about to ask something when the healer's door shot open. The kind-looking woman had obviously been listening to their conversation, but Sherlock did not mind.

'Do you know what happened to the King's manservant?' The healer's blue eyes bore into his own, seeking the truth. He decided not to lie to her and shook his head sadly.

'I saw the Court physician, who had, _erm_, somehow managed not to get possessed, and he told me that the manservant had been captured along with the King.'

The woman nearly burst into tears, leaning heavily against the house's door. John went to her side and put his hand on her shoulder.

'Don't worry, Hunith.' He squeezed her hand. 'I am going with Prince Sherlock. I promise you, I'll bring Merlin back.'

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath and a step back. When full realisation came over him, his legs betrayed him and he crumbled on the muddy ground.

_'__Merlin. I'll bring Merlin back.'_

The four words echoed through his mind, bringing back unwanted memories. Blue eyes just like his own. A cheeky smile and a crystalline laugh. He clenched his teeth and bit back a desperate sob. He could distantly feel his hands convulsively gripping the rough soil beneath him as he tried to shake himself out of his memories-induced trance.

_Merlin. Could it be…? No._

His reason took over once more, and he shook his head. There was no way his little brother was still alive, not after all that time looking for him.

He blinked and looked up to see John watching him with concern.

'Are you alright, my lord?'

Sherlock gathered his sprawled limbs and pushed himself up with a slight shiver, not daring to meet John in the eye.

'Yes, I-I am okay.'

The next thing he knew, he was half-sitting-half-lying on a hard mattress, the healer observing him with an eerie expression as she held out a bowl of broth to him.

'You should stay here for an hour or two before leaving. You look like you haven't slept in ages, my lord.'

He frowned before taking the bowl.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

She looked at the ground, holding her hands.

'Oh, it-it's nothing. You remind me of my son.'

Sherlock nearly poured broth over himself at her words.

'R-really?'

Before she could answer, John ran into the room, sword in his hand.

'Camelot knights are coming this way. And they do not look friendly in the slightest. Moriarty must be getting impatient. We have to go.'

At Sherlock's lack of response, he shouted.

'Now, my lord!'

His shout finally pulled Sherlock out of his thoughts. The younger man stood up and nodded to Hunith before running to his horse.

They were already far when the knights crossed Ealdor, rampaging though the houses to find the Prince of Semloh.

* * *

They rode in silence for three hours. John did not mind the absence of conversation, and for that Sherlock was grateful.

The wall he had mentally built around his memories was crumbling; at an alarming speed. The events of the previous days had been harsh blows to his relative stability of mind, and the years spent repressing any feelings were taking a huge toll on him. He hoped he would be able to cope with the trap Moriarty had prepared.

He grit his teeth and forbid himself to even think about the possibility of Merlin being still alive. Another disillusion would crush him definitely.

He tried to change his mind.

'How did you meet Hunith?'

John jumped a little at hearing the deep voice, startled by the sound after three silent hours.

'Oh. Two weeks ago, I stopped in Ealdor. After leaving Essetir, I spent most of my time on the road, and I wanted a little change. Hunith took me in, and in exchange, I worked in her fields. She is not married and her only son is King Arthur's manservant, so there was no one to help her harvesting her crops.'

A pause. 'She is really an incredibly kind woman, and she treated me like her son during my stay. I couldn't let her down about Merl-her son.'

Another silence.

John envisaged asking Sherlock if he had reacted to the name 'Merlin' this badly because of his little brother, but thought against it. Better not recall unwanted memories.

'What do you plan to do to save King Arthur, my lord?'

'Don't call me 'my lord'. It sounds awkward.'

Sherlock looked down and fumbled with his horse's reins. He seemed to be considering whether he trusted John on telling him the plan or not. John was starting to think Sherlock would not give an answer when his baritone voice spoke again.

'I don't really have a plan. Moriarty will have already covered every possible option of saving them, so no hope on that side. But...each of the Holmes brothers have a special ability. Merlin's was obviously magic, Mycroft's…is _his_ to say, and mine is that any kind of magic cannot affect me unless I want it to. And I am almost certain Moriarty ignores that.'

He whispered to himself a bit too loud: 'I hope so.'

John chose to ignore this, and tried to reassure the younger man riding at his side.

'I know every corridor of the castle, every stairs, every guards' schedule of shifts. You can trust me on that.'

Sherlock absently nodded. He had obviously already thought about that.

'I learnt the maps of Essetir, including the secret passageways, in Semloh's archives, but any further help will be useful.'

The Prince looked ahead.

'We can stop to rest for the evening. We will be there at dawn.'

The two men dismounted at the same time and watered their horses.

John smiled.

'By the way, there is something I ought to tell you. You know, earlier, when you deduced all those things about me? You got something wrong.'

Sherlock looked smug he had gotten most of his deductions correct. John bit back a laugh.

'Spot on, then.' He shrugged. 'I didn't expect to be right about everything.'

John rubbed his hands with a smirk.

'Harry's short for Harriet.'

'Harry is your sister.' He face-palmed. '_Sister!'_

* * *

**:D**

**I am sure you noticed '**Merlin's was obviously magic, Mycroft's…it is _his_ to say'...**I still do not know what Mycroft's ability could be. Help me on that! (no, this is ****_not_**** bribery to get even more reviews) :D**

**Until next time! :)**

**Airin9**


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